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American Dramatists Series 



TWO PLAYS 



NOTHING ELSE TO DO— CAUGHT 



BY 



MORRIS M. TOWNLEY 




BOSTON: THE GORHAM PRESS 

TORONTO: THE COPP CLARK CO., LIMITED 



Copyright, 1916, by Morris M. Townley 



All Ilislits Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
/ 

APR 20 1316 
©GID 4o'»?7 



s 



"TO E. V. T." 



CONTENTS 

Nothing Else to Do 1 1 

Caught 71 



NOTHING ELSE TO DO 
A Play in Three Acts 



CAST 
The Governor. 

MaRJORIE — HIS DAUGHTER. 

Jane — his sister. 

Bob Allen — U. S. District Attorney. 

Count Orsini. 

Joe Hopper — secret service. 

Theresa Lugioni. 

Arrazo. 

Jenkins. 

Policemen. 



Nothing Else To Do 

ACT I 

Library of the Governor's residence. Evening. 
Present, the Governor and Jane. The Governor is 
in an easy chair under the table lamp. He is reading 
the evening paper. Jane sits on the opposite side of 
the table reading a book. The Governor puts aside 
the paper and breaks the silence. 

Governor — {With a sigh of relief.) You don't 
know how good it seems to be spending a quiet even- 
ing at home — with no politics and no politicians. 

Jane — You have had a hard time of it, John. 
And to think that the people, who most approve the 
things which you have accomplished, are unable to 
vote for your re-election. 

Governor — One of your witticisms, Jane? 

Jane — Not at all. Don't you know that it's the 
women who most appreciate your having reduced the 
price of gas and water and such things? 

Governor — Do you think so — now I never 
thought of that. 

Jane — Doubtless you would have thought of it, 
if the women voted for governor. 

Governor — Yes — no doubt — no doubt — too bad 
II 



12 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

they don't. You know you've reformed me on that 
subject. I don't know whether it's because you've 
convinced me as a matter of principle, or whether 
it's because you always tell me the women are 
unanimous in approving my policies. You ought 
to be in politics yourself, Jane. 

Jane — Perhaps I shall be some day. — And prob- 
ably your daughter will be, even if I am not. 

Governor — Why do you say that ? 

Jane — First, because she's her father's daughter, 
and second, because she is a product of the new 
womanhood. 

Governor — I understand you've been making a 
new woman of her. We'll see what comes of it. 
By the by — where is Marjorie now? 

Jane — She will be down presently. She is dress- 
ing for the theatre. 

Governor — With whom is she going? 

Jane — Count Orsini. 

Governor — She sees too much of that chap, I 
think. 

Jane — Why do you dislike him? 

Governor — Prejudice possibly. I confess I know 
very little against him. But I would much rather 
that Marjorie saw more of Bob Allen, and less 
of this Count Orsini. 

Jane — I fear that you are not proceeding very 
skilfully to bring about that result. 



ACT I 13 

Governor — What do you mean? 

Jane — ^You show too plainly to Marjorie your 
preference for Bob. You know that sort of thing 
is apt to do Bob more harm than good. 

Governor — Perhaps you're right. What would 
you advise? 

Jane — If you wish Marjorie to care for Bob, 
why don't you allow her to become interested in 
the things in which he is interested? 

Governor — What do you mean? 

Jane — Just this — Bob, like yourself, is a lawyer 
with political tastes. Marjorie, as you know, 
is possessed with the desire to study law, and to 
take an interest in public affairs. If you would 
allow her to do as she wishes, I think she would 
have much more reason to be interested in Bob, and 
much less time to be interested in Count Orsini. 

Governor — I don't follow you there. And be- 
sides, you know that I am opposed to Marjorie 's 
studying law. 

Jane — Why? 

Governor — I suppose I haven't any good reasons 
as far as my personal views go. But as long as I am 
governor, I have to take account of public opinion, 
and you know the public opinion of this State is 
very conservative, particularly where women are 
concerned. 

Jane — ^John, you ought to be ashamed of your- 



14 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

self. It is past my understanding that a man who 
has the fine courage to advocate some of your legisla- 
tion should be afraid to conduct his own household 
according to his own convictions. 

Governor — It isn't as bad as all that, Jane. 

Jane — It's worse than that. The fact is that you 
are sacrificing Marjorie's wishes, and perhaps her 
future happiness, simply to save yourself the annoy- 
ance of being unjustly criticized. 

Governor — It's most uncomfortable to argue 
with you, Jane. You always seem to have the best 
of it. 

{Marjorie enters.) 

Marjorie — Talking about me — you two? 

Governor — Yes — you caught us in the act. 

Marjorie — Confessed criminals. 

Governor — What shall be our punishment? 

Marjorie — This. {She kisses him.) 

Governor — Too light to fit the crime. How 
charming you look! 

Marjorie — Do you like my dress? 

Governor — Wonderful — I only regret that you 
are wearing it for a younger admirer. 

Marjorie — What an old flirt you are! How I 
should like to have known you when you were 
twenty-five ! 

Jane — You may be sure that he was quite a beau 
in those days. 



ACT I 15 

Marjorie — I've no doubt of it. Probably his 
youth was a trail of broken hearts. Wasn't it, 
Daddy? 

{Enter Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Mr. Allen is calling. 

Marjorie — Ask him to come in. 

{Exit Jenkins.) 

Governor — I'll leave him to you, Marjorie. I 
have some wox\i in the study. Tell him I'd like to 
see him before he goes. 

{Exit the Governor.) 

{A moment later enter Bob Allen.) 

Bob — Good evening. Miss Burton, hovi^ are you? 
Hello, Marjorie — all dressed up, aren't you ? Must 
be going somewhere. 

Marjorie — Yes, I'm going to the theatre. 

Bob — I'm sorry. 

Marjorie — So am I. 

Bob — I'll have to console myself talking politics 
to the Governor. 

Marjorie — {Smiling.) You'd rather do that 
anyway, Bob. 

Bob — ^You know better than that. But I will say 
that politics is mighty interesting these days. Re- 
election promises all sorts of excitement. 

Jane — If you two are going to talk politics, I'll 
take my book to the Governor's study. I've heard 
so much of it lately that I positively can't stand 



1 6 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

another word. By the way, Bob, the Governor 
wants to see you before you go. 

Bob — Tell him I'll be in to see him presently. 

{Jane goes.) 

Marjorie — Dad's going to win, isn't he? 

Bob — Of course he is — but it's going to be a 
bitter fight — particularly with Public Utilities in 
the opposition. 

Marjorie — Has the Company so much power? 

Bob — Quite a bit — you see they own practically 
all of the water and gas and power plants in the 
State. And you may be sure that they are going to 
use all of the power they have to prevent your Dad 
from being re-elected. 

Marjorie — Why are they so bitter against him? 

Bob — Don't you remember that his pet legislation 
reduced their rates and cut down their dividends? 
Let's talk of something else. 

Marjorie — Very well — anything you like. 

Bob — Then we will talk of you. So you are 
going to the theatre tonight? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Bob — May I ask with whom ? 

Marjorie — Orsini. 

Bob — (Smiling.) My deadly rival? 

Marjorie — ^Wasn't it Balzac who said that the 
pretense of jealousy was the most subtle form of 
flattery ? 



ACT I 17 

Bob — But you see I am really jealous. 

Marjorie — Are you? 

Bob — Dreadfully. 

Marjorie — You don't seem very mournful over 
it. 

Bob — That would be so unbecoming. 

Marjorie — I like you for that, Bob. I never 
saw you otherwise than good humored. I think you 
would be cheerful in heaven. 

Bob — I fear I shall never be put to that test — 
particularly when the only angel I know refuses me. 

Marjorie — Of course you mean me? 

Bob — Naturally. 

Marjorie — But I haven't. 

Bob — You did. 

Marjorie — Temporarily. 

Bob — Then — 

Marjorie — Until I prove myself worthy of you. 

Bob — Worthy — how foolish. 

Marjorie — It is not foolish. You know very 
well that what I most want is to study law and 
prepare myself to do something worth while. When 
I have accomplished that, perhaps I may be worthy 
of you. 

Bob — Well, Marjorie, when are you going to 
begin to make yourself worthy of me? 

Marjorie — I'd begin tomorrow, if Daddy would 
let me. Why don't you talk to him, Bob? Perhaps 



i8 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

he'd consent if you asked him to. 

Bob — I'll talk to him, if you like — but you know 
the Governor has a mind of his own. 

Marjorie — Yes, but he thinks so much of you, 
and now that you're the United States District 
Attorney, he has no end of respect for your opinion. 
And shall I tell you something else? 

Bob — Yes. 

Marjorie — He's dying for you to marry me. 

Bob — Do you mean it, Marjorie? 

Marjorie — Of course I do — but I wont — until 

Bob — Until — 

Marjorie — Until I prove myself worthy of you 
— Here comes Daddy now. 

( The Governor enters.) 

Governor — Hello, Bob — I'm so glad you're here. 
I've something to show you. 

Bob — What is it? 

Governor — A letter which just came by special 
delivery. 

Bob — Who from? 

Governor — I don't know. It's anonymous. 

Marjorie — How exciting! 

Bob — What sort? 

Governor — Downright commanding sort. Tells 
me to get out of the race for re-election or some- 
body will expose the secrets of my past life. 

Marjorie — Disgusting ! 



ACT I 19 

Governor — {Producing letter.) Look it over, 
Bob, and see what you make of it. 

Marjorie — May I look. Daddy? 

Governor — Of course. 

{Bob and Marjorie examine letter.) 

Governor — Who do you suppose would write 
that sort of thing? 

Bob — Some of the politicians we've been fighting, 
I suppose. 

Governor — You mean the Utility crowd. 

Bob — Yes. 

Governor — They would have too much sense to 
expect to accomplish anything by such means. 

Bob — {Smiling.) Perhaps they have discovered 
some of your early indiscretions, Governor. 

Marjorie — Daddy never had any early indis- 
cretions — had you — old dear? 

{Pause.) 

Governor — I should really like to know who 
sent that letter. 

Marjorie — {Brightening.) I tell you — let's 
find out who wrote it and have Bob send him to 
prison. It's blackmail, isn't it? 

Governor — I don't know — is it, Bob? 

Bob — Pretty good guess, Marjorie — you should 
be a lawyer and no mistake. But how are you 
going to find out who wrote it? It's all typewritten, 
you see. 



20 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Marjorie — I read somewhere that every type- 
writer has an infirmity, and that no two are alike. 
Let's look at the letter again. Wait, I'll get the 
glass. 

{She takes a magnifying glassi fro?n the table 
drawer and exa?uines the letter under the lamp.) 

Marjorie — Look, Bob — here are two capital A's 
above the level of the other letters — that's something, 
isn't it? 

Bob — ^You're right, Marjorie — let's see what else 
we can find. 

Marjorie — This letter i is tilted slightly to the 
right — here's another the same way — look. 

{Bob takes the glass and looks.) 

Bob — It certainly is — and here's another the same 
way — and here's a letter / tilted the other way — 
we're discovering things, Governor. 

Governor — So it seems, but how are you going 
to find out who wrote it? 

Bob — I don't know yet— but it's worth trying. 

{Enter Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Count Orsini is calling. 

Marjorie — O dear — now I suppose I shall have 
to go — just when I am so interested in the letter. 

Bob — Never mind, Marjorie, you and I will get 
to the bottom of this letter yet. 

Marjorie — {To Jenkins.) Ask the Count to 
come in. 



ACT I 21 

(Exit Jenkins.) 

Governor — I'm off to the study, Bob. Come in 
after Marjorie goes, and we'll finish our talk there. 
Good night, Marjorie. 

Marjorie — {Kissing him.) Good night, Daddy. 

{Exit Governor; then enter Orsini.) 

Marjorie — Good evening, Count. 

Orsini — Good evening. Miss Burton — and how 
are you, Mr. Allen. 

Bob — Very well, thank you. 

Orsini — {To Bob.) Miss Burton is very charm- 
ing tonight, is she not? 

Bob — {Tolerantly.) Yes, indeed — I was just 
saying so. 

Marjorie — {To Orsini.) Is it not time for the 
theatre ? 

Orsini — It is just eight. 

Marjorie — Then we must stay only a moment. 

Orsini — I am at your service, always. 

Marjorie — To what theatre are we going? 

Orsini — To the one which was named after you. 

Marjorie — Which is that? 

Orsini — The Princess. 

Bob — The Count is most subtle. 

Marjorie — He has the subtlety of a serpent. 

Orsini — You flatter me, Miss Burton. You 
know the serpent is the symbol of temptation. 

Bob — Should you like to impersonate temptation? 



22 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Orsini — What man would not? 

Marjorie — I thought that was a feminine role — 
created by Eve, wasn't it? 

Bob — Yes, but the men found it so attractive that 
they decided to play it themselves, eh Count ? 

Orsini — I think rather the women concluded 
that the part was unbecoming to them. 

Bob — And then the men found it so particularly 
becoming to them. 

Marjorie — Well, I notice that when anyone is 
to be blamed, the men still point their finger at 
poor old Eve. 

Bob — That they do — we're an ungallant lot, 
Marjorie. 

Marjorie — Having made you admit that, the 
Count and I must be off to the theatre. Good 
night. Bob. 

Bob — Good night to you both. 

Orsini — Good night, Mr. Allen. 

{Marjorie and Orsini go. Enter Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Mr. Hopper is calling — I beg pardon, 
sir, I thought the Governor was here. 

Bob — He's in his study, Jenkins. I'm just going 
there. Show the gentleman in here, and I'll tell 
the Governor. What's the name, did you say? 

Jenkins — Mr. Hopper, sir. 

{Bob goes. Jenkins shows in Mr. Hopper. A 
moment later the Governor enters.) 



ACT I 23 

Hopper — Good evening, Governor. 

Governor — Good evening, Mr. Hopper — sit 
dovv^n. 

Hopper — {Doing so.) Thank you. I called to 
give you the result of my investigation. 

Governor — Yes. 

Hopper — I have made some inquiries and have 
personally kept w^atch of Count Orsini for the past 
vi'eek. His life seems to be altogether idle and 
irregular. He lives in a furnished apartment at 67 
Elm Street. An Italian man servant lives with him. 
He rarely leaves his apartment before 11 in the 
morning. He spends more or less time at the 
Dov^^n Tow^n Club, where he is a non-resident mem- 
ber. He seems to have very few friends among 
men. At any rate he seldom associates with men. 
He is frequently in the society of your daughter. 
Of course, you know that. 

Governor — Yes — they are together tonight. 

Hopper — I know. Then there is one other young 
woman he sees frequently — more frequently than 
anyone in fact. She is of a very different type from 
your daughter. Their meetings usually take place 
at the Count's apartment. 

Governor — His mistress? 

Hopper — No doubt. 

Governor — Who is she? 

Hopper — I have been unable to learn her name. 



24 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

She is small and dark and has rather a foreign 
appearance. I would judge that she is an Italian, 
as he is. 

Governor — What else? 

Hopper — I think that's the substance of it, for 
the present. If you think it important, I will en- 
deavor to find out who the young woman is. 

Governor — Yes, I should like to know. 

Hopper — Is there anything else you would like 
to suggest? 

Governor — No — but find out her name without 
fail — and where she lives and with whom. 

Hopper — I will. Governor. (Rising.) I'll not 
keep you longer. Good night. 

Governor — (Also rising.) Good night, Mr. 
Hopper. Thank you for coming — and I shall de- 
pend upon you to give me further particulars. 

Hopper — Thanks — I'll report as soon as possible. 

(He goes — a moment later Bob enters.) 

Bob — Excuse me. Governor, but who is the chap 
that just left? 

Governor — A detective by the name of Hopper. 

Bob — How does he happen to be here — may I 
ask? 

Governor — I employed him to procure some 
confidential information for me. 

Bob — Do you know who he is? 

Governor — No, except that he comes from 



ACT I 25 

White's agency. 

Bob — Why did you go to White's? 

Governor — No particular reason, except that 
they are supposed to be reliable. 

Bob — Didn't you know they were tied up hand 
and foot with the Utility crowd? 

Governor — No, I didn't — but what of it? 

Bob — And if this Hopper is the man I take him 
for, he is a very skillful chap brought here by White 
from New York to do secret service work for 
Jim Sullivan, President of Public Utilities. I hope 
you haven't trusted him with anything important. 

Governor — No, not very important — it was 
purely a personal matter — still — are you sure he's 
the man you think he is ? 

Bob — No — but I can find out. Say, Governor, 
this man couldn't have any connection with that 
anonymous letter — could he? 

Governor — I was just thinking of that. Do you 
know, there's something about that letter I don't 
like. 

Bob — ^What do you mean? 

Governor — I'll be frank with you. Bob, because 

I need your advice, and besides, I feel that you are 

closer to me in this campaign than anyone else. 

Then, too, I know that I can trust you implicitly. 

Bob — I think that's true, Governor. 

Governor — ^Well, there's something about the 



26 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

wording of that letter — It didn't strike me at first, 
but the more I think of it, the more I am convinced 
that the man who wrote that letter wasn't 
bluffing. 

Bob — You mean he knows something that you 
don't want exposed. 

Governor — Yes — I'll tell you what it is. It's 
a rare bit of ancient history — some of my wild 
oats cropping up again. The fact is that almost 
thirty years ago — before I was married that was — 
I became infatuated with a young Italian woman by 
the name of Theresa Lugioni. Her father at that 
time was Italian consul here. After our infatua- 
tion had lasted for about a year, her father re- 
turned to Italy, taking her with him. A short time 
after this, I met Marjorie's mother. We fell in 
love, became engaged, and were married within a 
few months. Several weeks after we were married, 
I had a letter from Theresa telling me that she 
expected a child. 

Bob — How unfortunate! 

Governor — Shortly after that, her father died, 
and she returned here. Of course, there was noth- 
ing which I could do, except to look after the mother 
and her little daughter. This I have done from that 
time to now. 

Bob — They are still here? 

Governor — ^Yes. 



ACT I 27 

Bob — How many people are there who know of 
this ? 

Governor — So far as I believe — no one except 
the mother herself. 

Bob — Not even the daughter? 

Governor — I think not. 

Bob — And yet you think the writer of this let- 
ter — 

Governor — Either knows — or else he stumbled 
upon language which points squarely in that direc- 
tion. 

Bob — That makes it doubly important to find out 
who wrote the letter. 

Governor — Do you think there is a chance. 

Bob — I don't know. At any rate, Marjorie has 
given us a clue, and I am going to follow it up and 
see where it leads, I'm off at once, Governor, if 
you don't mind. 

Governor — Can I do anything? 

Bob — Not tonight. What did you say the wo- 
man's name was? 

Governor — Theresa Luglonl. 

Bob — And the daughter's name? 

Governor — Theresa Lugioni — the same as her 
mother's. 

Bob — Where do they live? 

Governor — At 6io Grace Street. 

Bob — Let me take the letter, will you? 



28 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Governor — {Giving it to him.) Here it is. 

Bob — Now, good night, Governor. Don't worry 
about this thing — we'll get to the bottom of it 
somehow. 

Governor — Thanks Bob — a thousand times — 
Good night. 

(Bob goes.) 

( The Governor sits down in the easy chair by the 
table — a moment later Jane enters.) 

Jane — Where's Bob? 

Governor— Just gone, 

Jane — {Sitting down.) Then I suggest that you 
and I finish our talk about Marjorie. 

Governor — What more is there to be said about 
Marjorie? 

Jane — Very much. I've been studying Mar- 
jorie carefully, and I have some ideas as to what 
should be done about her. 

Governor — I'm listening. 

Jane — Marjorie is quite a strong-minded young 
woman, and very ambitious to do something with 
her life. She has decided that she wants to study 
law. 

Governor — What made her decide that? 

Jane — I don't know — I suppose because she 
wants something interesting to do. 

Governor — But why can't she do something 
more feminine? 



ACT I 29 

Jane — She seems to be doing something quite 
feminine at this time. 

Governor — How so? 

Jane — Isn't she indulging in the very feminine 
occupation of allowing Count Orsini to make love 
to her? 

Governor — Do you really think that she's in- 
terested in that fellow? 

Jane — I think she is — to some extent. Do you 
find him so very objectionable? 

Governor — Yes, I do. 

Jane — Why? 

Governor — I suppose my greatest objection is his 
infernal laziness. He seems to have nothing which 
bears the slightest resemblance to a useful occupa- 
tion. 

Jane — Probably that's why he and Marjorie are 
so congenial. They both seem to be lacking in 
useful occupation. 

Governor — The cases are entirely different. He 
is a man, and Marjorie is a woman. 

Jane — The cases are not in the least diliferent. 
We all develop under the stimulus of employment. 
We all stagnate in idleness. That is why so many 
men develop, and so many women do not. 

Governor — Well, Jane, I decline to be drawn 
into a discussion of what you call feminism. You 
always have the last word on that subject. Besides, 



30 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

I'm getting sleepy. {He places his feet on a stool 
and sinks down comfortably into his chair.) 

Jane — But, John, don't you realize that some- 
time you must begin to take women seriously? 
Instead of discouraging Marjorie, you should be 
glad and proud to know that she has the ambition 
to want to make something of her life. Besides, there 
is another thing to consider — the most important of 
all. 

Governor — What is that? (He nods sleepily.) 

Jane — You say what you most dislike about the 
Count is his idleness? 

Governor — Yes. 

Jane — Suppose you had a son the Count's age. 
And suppose you permitted him to be just as idle as 
the Count, and gave him as much money as ever he 
wanted. What do you think would be the result? 

Governor — I wouldn't do it. 

Jane — But suppose you did — what would be the 
result? 

Governor — (More sleepily.) I suppose the 
devil would be the result. 

Jane — Exactly so. Doubtless the devil would 
be the result. And yet don't you realize that you 
are doing that very thing with Marjorie? You 
give her as much money as she wants, you let her 
do whatever she pleases, and at the same time you 
deny her the right to engage in any useful occupa- 



ACT I 31 

tion. That would corrupt ninety per cent, of the 
male sex, and you know it; yet you expect Marjorie 
to be unaffected by it. You have no right to expect 
it, it isn't fair to Marjorie. You may never have 
thought of it, John, but it's a fact that the devil 
finds mischief for idle women as well as idle men. 
And if anything should happen to Marjorie — if she 
should do anything of which you might not approve 
— it would be your fault more than hers. Don't you 
realize that, John? 

( The Governor does not answer. After a pause, 
Jane gets up and looks at him. His head has fallen 
forward and he is sleeping soundly.) 

Jane — The spirit of vigilance and reason sleeps. 

{She takes a book from the table and sits dozun to 
read. ) 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 

Late the next afternoon. 

Scene — The living room of the Count's apart- 
ment, hi the back is a bay window overlooking the 
street. On the right is a door leading to the back 
of the apartment. On the left, in the rear, is the 
entry. On the left front is a door leading to the 
Count's bedroom. In the front of this door is a 
heavy velvet portiere. Opposite this door on the 
right ivall is a target for pistol practice. Conven- 
tional furniture, pictures, etc. There is a table, 
with a telephone. 

As the curtain rises, the Count's Italian man- 
servant enters from the right. He has on his hat 
and is putting on his overcoat to go out. As he is 
taking a final look over the room, the bell rings. 
He takes off his coat and hat, and goes to the door. 

Arrazo — Ah, Signora, it is you. 

Theresa — Yes, Arrazo, it is I. Is his lordsihp 
within? 

Arrazo — No, Signora, he is without. Further- 
more, he is not expected to return, and has given 
me a holiday. I was departing as you arrived. 

Theresa — Don't let me keep you. I will make 
myself at home. If his lordship does not come to 
me, I will steal a nap on his couch. 
32 



ACT II 33 

Arrazo — Very good — may I not offer you some- 
thing before I go? 

Theresa — No, thank you. If I grow faint, I 
will help myself to some of your excellent wine. 

Arrazo — Signora will be most welcome. Here 
is the decanter on the table. And now, since you 
allow me, I will go to meet my friends. 

Theresa — By all means. 

(Arrazo takes his hat and coat and bows himself 
out.) 

Left to herself, Theresa goes into the Count's 
bedroom, where she leaves her hat and coat. She 
comes out, singing softly, and goes curiously about 
the room, examining everything. She is in fine 
spirits. When she comes to the target, she claps her 
hands and runs back to the Count's room. In a 
moment she appears at the door with a pistol, ivhich 
she aims at the target and fires. There is no smoke 
and only a muffled noise. The shot hits the bell 
and Theresa gives an exclamation of pleasure. She 
takes back the pistol to the Count's room. She re- 
turns and continues her journey around the room. 
Presently she comes to the table which contains a 
photograph of Marjorie. She picks it up and ex- 
amines it. Her singing ceases. She throws it 
down contemptuously. Then she goes to a mirror 
and looks at herself — then she laughs and sings 
again. She goes to the window and looks out 



34 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

through the curtains. Suddenly her singing ceases, 
and she looks intently, as though following someone 
with her eyes. Finally the persons she has been 
watching come directly under the window, and her 
last look is followed by an exclamation of rage. 
She crosses the stage cautiously and disappears be- 
hind the portieres into the Count's bedroom. Pres- 
ently the entrance door is opened with a key, and 
the Count enters, followed by Marjorie. The Count 
takes off his coat and hat and places them on a chair 
near the entry. 

Marjorie — How dreadfully dark it seems. 

Orsini — The days are getting short. Shall I 
light a lamp? 

Marjorie — Not yet. Are you sure there is no 
one here? 

Orsini — Quite — I gave my man a holiday. 

Marjorie — Now I can see better. What an in- 
teresting place you have. 

Orsini — I find it much more interesting today 
than ever before. 

Marjorie — It seems very cozy and comfortable. 

Orsini — Won't you take off your hat and coat? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

(She takes them off and gives them over to the 
Count, who starts with them towards his room. 
She keeps in her hand a lady's bag.) 

Orsini — I'll leave them in my room so that you 



ACT II 35 

may never escape. 

Marjorie — Oh, no — please leave them here. 

Orsini — As the princess desires. 

{He returns and places them on a second chair 
near the entry.) 

What is your next wish ? May I offer you a glass 
of v^^ine? 

Marjorie — No, thank you — I am sufficiently 
intoxicated with the excitement of being here. May 
I look about? 

Orsini — With pleasure. 

Marjorie — {Who has come to the target.) 
Gracious — what a strange decoration. 

Orsini — That's a target for my pistol practice. 

Marjorie — Do you shoot here? 

Orsini — Every day. 

Marjorie — But your neighbors! 

Orsini — Both the other apartments are vacant — 
besides, I use a new powder that makes very little 
noise and no smoke. 

Marjorie — How curious! 

Orsini — Shall I get my pistol and give you an 
exhibition? 

Marjorie — Please, no — I am frightened enough 
as it is. 

Orsini — Why are you frightened? 

Marjorie — I have a sense of impending danger 
— doubtless a passing fancy. Doesn't it seem strange 



36 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

that you and I should be alone here in your apart- 
ment ? 

Orsini — It is very strange and very wonderful. 
Now I should like to stop all of the clocks in the 
world, and bid time stand still forever. 

Marjorie — I fear that you are more poet than 
philosopher. 

Orsini — Today, I know nothing of philosophy, 
and everything of poetry. 

Marjorie — It must be very charming to know 
everything of poetry. 

Orsini — When one is in love, one feels what one 
does not knoiv. And my love for you makes me feel 
in the beating of my heart the rhythm of all the 
poetry in the world. 

Marjorie — Ah, Count, if the lover were always 
poet, what a delightful world it would be. But 
when he turns critic and philosopher — that's the 
beginning of another story. 

Orsini — But I would never turn critic or phi- 
losopher. 

Marjorie — You would some day — and I would 
even if you didn't. That is love's tradegy. 

Orsini — What then is love's comedy? 

Marjorie — Its existence. 

Orsini — You are a pessimist. 

Marjorie — No — only a philosopher — one of the 
few of my sex. 



ACT II 37 

Orsini — You're a strange creature, Marjorie — 
quite beyond my understanding. 

Marjorie — ^What about me do you not under- 
stand? 

Orsini — Why you are here, for one thing. 

Marjorie — Shall I tell you why I am here? 

Orsini — ^Yes. 

Marjorie — I came in search of a new game. 

Orsini — Perhaps I am stupid, but I do not 
understand. 

Marjorie — You see I am permitted to do noth- 
ing in this life except to play — one game after 
another — and I have played them over and over 
until I have grown tired and sick of them all. 

Orsini — So you wish to throw away the old toys 
and find new ones? 

Marjorie — For today — yes. 

Orsini — And that is why you came to my toy- 
shop? 

Marjorie — ^Yes. 

Orsini — ^What may I show to tempt the wishes 
of so charming a patron? 

Marjorie — What has the toy-man to offer? 

Orsini — I offer you a life's devotion. 

Marjorie — Far too serious a plaything — show 
me something else. 

Orsini — Tell me what you would like. 

Marjorie — I tell you I want a new game — 



38 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

something quite new and very interesting. 

Orsini — But you see I do not know exactly what 
kind of a game you wish to find. 

Marjorie — Toy-men are very stupid people. 

(A pause.) 

Orsini — Do you like games of adventure? 

Marjorie — Of course. 

Orsini — Filled with all sorts of excitement? 

Marjorie — By all means — yes. 

Orsini — How would you like to go exploring? 

Marjorie — ^Capital! What shall we explore? 

Orsini — If you would, we might explore together 
a very distant and very wonderful place. 

Marjorie — What is its name ? 

Orsini — It is called Treasure Island. 

Marjorie — Where is this Treasure Island you 
speak of? 

Orsini — It lies surrounded by the sea of enchant- 
ment. 

Marjorie — But how does one sail over the sea 
of enchantment? 

Orsini — On the ship of adventure. 

Marjorie — And what wonderful things do ex- 
plorers find on this Treasure Island ? 

Orsini — If one is very fortunate, one may find 
the last chapter of the book of knowledge. 

Marjorie — What is it about — this last chapter 
of the book of knowledge? 



ACT II 39 

Orsini — It is about the greatest thing in the 
world. 

Marjorie — Is it very interesting? 

Orsini — Yes. 

Marjorie — And quite new? 

Orsini — It is always new. 

Marjorie — And exciting? 

Orsini — Most exciting. 

Marjorie — It must be very wonderful. 

Orsini — It is the wonder of wonders. 

Marjorie — I think I should like to visit this 
Treasure Island. 

Orsini — Are you not afraid, Marjorie? 

Marjorie — Why should I be? 

Orsini — You know it might be a dangerous ex- 
ploration. There may be pirates or bandits. 

Marjorie — I am not afraid of them; besides I 
suppose there is no adventure without danger. 

Orsini — Then shall we hoist our sails? 

Marjorie — First, I want you to make me a 
promise. 

Orsini — What is it? 

Marjorie — If you and I go together to this 
Treasure Island, I want you to promise me that 
the first exploration shall be the last. 

Orsini — What do you mean? 

Marjorie — I mean that this must be the end of 
it all. 



40 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Orsini — The end of it all? 
Marjorie — Between you and me — yes. 
Orsini — Wont you marry me, Marjorie? 
Marjorie — Never — you know that. 
Orsini — And yet — (A pause.) 
Marjorie — Yes — {Another pause.) 
Orsini — Only one chapter? 
Marjorie — Only one — and after that, all the 
rest of the book must be torn into fragments and 
scattered to the four winds, 

Orsini — What is to become of the fragments, 
Marjorie? 

Marjorie — Some of them must be carried a great 
distance — even beyond the seas. 

Orsini — Then must the beginning be the end ? 

Marjorie — That must be definitely understood. 

Orsini — You insist upon that? 

Marjorie — I ask your promise. 

Orsini — Beggars may not be choosers. 

Marjorie — You promise? 

Orsini — I promise. 

Marjorie — Then it is a bargain. 

Orsini — Solemn bargains are always sealed. 

Marjorie — Then our bargain shall be sealed. 

Orsini — Today ? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

{He takes her in his arms and kisses her.) 

Marjorie — {After a pause.) Now we are under 



ACT II 41 

sail — 

Orsini — On the sea of enchantment — 

Marjorie — Aboard the good ship Adventure. 

Orsini — Bound for Treasure Island — 

Marjorie — For Treasure Island — yes. 

Orsini — How blue is the sky — 

Marjorie — Not a cloud on the horizon — 

Orsini — Nor pirate ship — 

Marjorie — Not even a solitary bandit — 

Orsini — To steal the treasure — 

Marjorie — Or frighten the explorers — 

Orsini — Or drown the spirit of adventure. 

{He draws her to him and kisses her again.) 

Marjorie — Ah, Count — you are ever so fascinat- 
ing. You have all the evidences of Italian train- 
ing. You must have studied the art of making 
love as men in this country study business or politics. 

Orsini — Not so — Marjorie. To make love to 
you is nature, not art. 

Marjorie — But even nature does not attain per- 
fection without much development. I must have 
had many predecessors. 

Orsini — Not one whom I have ever loved seri- 
ously. 

Marjorie — Are you sure? 

Orsini — ^Yes. 

Marjorie — Quite sure? 

Orsini — Quite sure. 



42 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Marjorie — No one in the wide world? 

Orsini — No one in the wide world. 
{A noise is heard in the Count's bedroom, as 
though soTnething had fallen.) 

Marjorie — What's that? 

Orsini — I don't know. 

Marjorie — There must be someone there. 

Orsini — That is impossible. 

Marjorie — Go and see. 

Orsini — Of course. 

{He goes to his bedroom. As the portieres fall 
behind him, the shot of the Count's pistol is heard, 
followed by the sound of a body falling to the floor. 
Marjorie drops the bag she carried in her hand. 
She is terror stricken. She looks about wildly, not 
knowing what to do. At the end of a few seconds, 
another pistol shot is heard, followed by a piercing 
cry from Theresa. Then follows a dead silence. 
The second shot seems to have counteracted the 
effect of the first on Marjorie' s nerves. With- fixed 
resolution, she goes into the Count's bedroom. A 
moment later the entrance door opens and Arrazo 
enters. He notices the Count's coat and hat near 
the entry, together with Marjorie's coat and hat. 
He looks knowingly towards the Count's room. He 
also sees Marjorie's bag, which he picks up from 
the floor and places on the mantlepiece. He then 
goes noiselessly through the door at the right, to 



ACT II 43 

the back of the apartment. A moment later Marjorie 
returns. She is manifestly under the stress of great 
nervous excitement. She goes to the telephone and 
takes down the receiver.) 

Marjorie — ^Give me police headquarters, please. 
(Pause.) Is this police headquarters? (Pause.) 
Please send someone immediately to Count Orsini's 
apartment, 67 Elm Street. The Count Orsini has 
been murdered. 

(She hangs up the receiver, puts on her coat and 
hat hurriedly, and with a last glance toward the 
Count's room, she departs, closing the entry door 
behind her. She has left her bag on the mantle- 
piece.) 

(The curtain falls momentarily to indicate the 
lapse of an hour. On the rise of the curtain, is dis- 
covered Arrazo in charge of tivo police officers.) 

Arrazo — Gentlemen, I wish to explain something 
— there is something I wish to tell. 

First Officer — You are not to explain any- 
thing or tell anything or touch anything until the 
boss arrives. Then you can do all the explaining 
you want. 

Arrazo — Yes, gentlemen, thank you, gentlemen. 

Second Officer — How did they^ happen to put 
Hopper on this job? 

First Officer — Chief said all our men were out, 
so he telephoned White's and they agreed to send 



44 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Hopper. {Looking at watch.) He should be here 
by this time. 

Second Officer — New in these parts, ain't he? 

First Officer — Yes, White's brought him here 
from New York. Best man White has, they say. 

Second Officer — Ever seen much of him? 

First Officer — Not much. Met him in that 
gas house case. Remember it, don't you? Well, 
he did the trick for the Gas Company there all 
right. {The bell rings.) That's him now. 

{The officer opens the door — Hopper enters.) 

Hopper — {Taking off his coat, inquires in a per- 
fectly matter-of-fact, business-like manner.) Well 
what have we here? 

First Officer — Bad mixup, Captain — man and 
woman shot in the next room — both dead when we 
got here, sir. 

Hopper — Anything been moved since you arrived? 

First Officer — Nothing, Captain — had orders 
not to. 

Arrazo — Gentlemen, let me explain — I will tell 
you all — I will explain everything, gentlemen. 

Hopper — Keep still — you'll have plenty of time 
to explain after I look about. Where are the 
bodies ? 

First Officer — {Indicating.) This room. Cap- 
tain. 

Hopper — All right — you stay here and keep your 



ACT II 45 

eyes on this man. I'll take a look. {He goes into 
the Count's room.) 

Second Officer — (Quietly.) Cool, ain't he? 

First Officer — (Also quietly.) Acts as if he 
was investigating a baby for stealing candy. 

Second Officer — Wonder what he'll make out 
of it. 

First Officer — I'm glad I'm not in the shoes of 
this Dago here. 

Arrazo — Gentlemen — I did not do it — I am 
innocent — I will explain everything. 

First Officer — Shut up — you'll have more ex- 
plaining to do than you'll want in a minute. 

(Hopper returns — he goes about the room with 
his hands behind his back — examining everything 
studiously.) 

Hopper — (To officer.) How did you happen to 
to be sent here? 

First Officer — Some woman called headquar- 
ters — told the operator to send someone here at 
once as somebody had been murdered. Then she 
hung up the receiver. The operator traced the call 
back, and found it came from this telephone. We 
were here fifteen minutes afterwards. 

Hopper — ^What did you find ? 

First Officer — We rang the bell — this man 
opened the door. Said he was the servant of 
Count Orsini, who lives here. Said his master was 



46 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

out. We asked him if anything had happened. He 
said no. Up to that time he seemed rather cool. 
Then we told him we guessed we'd go through the 
place. Then he got excited and didn't want us to. 
We went through and found what you saw in there. 

Hopper — What did you do then? 

First Officer — Phoned headquarters and told 
them what we'd found. The chief said to do noth- 
ing but hold down the job until he sent someone 
from the detective force. , Later he phoned and said 
you were coming. 

Hopper — Good. Was this man with you wher 
you found the bodies? 

First Officer — Yes sir. 

Hopper — What did he say? 

First Officer — He put up an awful good bluff 
at being surprised. He took us both in, Captain. 

Hopper — Do you think it was a bluff? 

First Officer — Don't see any escape from it, 
Captain. He said he'd been here for half an hour, 
and those bodies were still warm. They couldn't 
have been dead that long. 

Hopper — What time did you arrive? 

First Officer — Five-twenty; (looking at 
watch) it's six thirty now. 

Hopper — Good — now we'll hear from this man. 

(To Arrazo.) What's your name? 

Arrazo — {Excitedly throughout.), ArrazQ Fe.r- 



ACT II 47 

ratti, gentlemen. 

Hopper — Did you ever see a man hung, Arrazo ? 

Arrazo — {Terrified.) No, no — Mio Dio — I do 
not like to see such thing. Ah, misericordia ! 

Hopper — Then listen, Arrazo. You are going 
to be hung unless you tell me the truth. Do you 
understand. 

Arrazo — No, no — si, si — yes, yes — gentlemen — 
all I will tell. I tell you the truth. I tell you 
everything — tutto — tutto. 

Hopper — Good. Where have you been this af- 
ternoon, Arrazo? 

Arrazo — Gentlemen, I leave here at half past 
four. I go to my friend, Tony Ferranno's place. I 
drink there a glass of vv^ine. He vvrill tell you truly. 
Then I return. 

Hopper — What time did you return? 

Arrazo — I do not know the hour, gentlemen. I 
sec not my watch. I am not long here when came 
these gentlemen. 

Hopper — Who was here when you left? 

Arrazo — The poor lady there in that room. She 
is here when I go. 

Hopper — Where was your master? 

Arrazo — I do not know, gentlemen — he was 
away. 

Hopper — ^When did he return? 

Arrazo — I do not know. I see him no more 



48 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

until these gentlemen found him. Oh, Mio Dio! 

Hopper — What did you do when you returned? 

Arrazo — I go to my room — at the back of the 
house. There I was when these gentlemen arrive. 

Hopper — You came in through this door? 

Arrazo — Yes, gentlemen. 

Hopper — And when you came in you saw your 
master's coat and hat there by the door, didn't you? 

Arrazo — {Surprised.) Oh, but yes, gentlemen 
truly I saw that. 

Hopper — Then you knew that he had returned. 

Arrazo — ^Yes, gentlemen, that I knew. 

Hopper — Then why did you tell these men your 
master was out? 

Arrazo — Ah, Madonna mia — how can I know 
what have happened, gentlemen? I know my mas- 
ter was in his room. He will not wish to be dis- 
turbed by these gentlemen. 

Hopper — You did not know that anything had 
happened ? 

Arrazo — No, gentlemen, no — per la Madonna — 
I know nothing, I swear. 

Hopper — Your master is the Count Rafaele 
Orsini ? 

Arrazo — Yes, gentlemen. 

Hopper — And the woman in there was his 
mistress ? 

Arrazo — Ah, yes, gentlemen — she was his friend 



ACT II 49 

— la poveretta! 

Hopper — What was her name? 

Arrazo — Senora Theresa Lugioni. 

Hopper — What's that? 

Arrazo — Theresa Lugioni, gentlemen, si gentile, 
si buona. 

Hopper — Good God — his — Where does she 
live? 

Arrazo — She live at Grace Street, number 6io. 

Hopper — With her mother? 

Arrazo — Yes, gentlemen. 

Hopper — And her mother's name is Theresa 
Lugioni ? 

Arrazo — Yes, gentlemen — you know her — you 
see I speak always the truth. 

Hopper — Theresa was here frequently, was she 
not? 

Arrazo — She was here many times — yes, gentle- 
men. 

Hopper — Did they ever quarrel? 

Arrazo — Oh, mio Dio — nevair — nevair — so ama- 
bile — always kind together. 

Hopper — Then why did she shoot him? 

Arrazo — Senora shoot Don Orsini! Oh, no — 
nevair — nevair! Senora nevair shoot my poor mas- 
ter — no, no, gentlemen. 

Hopper — Then who did shoot him? 

Arrazo — Ah, it was another lady — a strange 



50 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

lady, gentlemen. She was here with my master 
when I came. Ah, la cattiva ! 

Hopper — What's that? 

Arrazo — When I came in, gentlemen, here on 
this chair I see the coat and hat of Signor il Conte, 
and here on this chair I see the coat and hat of a 
lady — it is strange — I have never before seen. I 
go to my room, and when these gentlemen come, the 
strange coat and hat are gone — the strange lady 
also have gone. It was the strange lady, gentlemen, 
who have killed Signor il Conte and Signora 
Theresa. 

First Officer — That might explain the tele- 
phone call, Captain. 

Hopper — Do you know who this other woman 
was, Arrazo? 

Arrazo — No, gentlemen, that I know not. 

Hopper — Was any other woman ever here be- 
fore? 

Arrazo — No, gentlemen — only Signora Theresa. 

Hopper — Are you sure the coat and hat you saw 
did not belong to Theresa? 

Arrazo — No, no, gentlemen. The coat and hat 
of Signora Theresa are in there. And, gentlemen, 
another thing — now I remember. When I come, 
there was here on the floor a lady's bag. I pick it 
up and put it there on the mantel. 

{One of the officers goes to the mantelpiece and 



ACT II 51 

produces the bag, which he hands to Hopper.) 

Officer — There's the bag, Captain. 

Arrazo — You see gentlemen, I speak always the 
truth — sempre — sempre. That is the bag of the 
strange lady — it was she who killed my master and 
the poor Signora. 

{Hopper examines the bag. He opens it and looks 
inside. As he does so, he utters an exclamation of 
unbounded astonishment. He takes out the contents 
of the bag, including among other things some call- 
ing cards. Then he puts the contents back into the 
bag and puts the bag into his pocket.) 

Hopper — Gentlemen, the investigation is over for 
tonight. Let this man be kept in custody for the 
present. Have the bodies removed. Leave every- 
thing else exactly as it is. I must leave the details 
to you. There is another matter which requires 
my immediate attention. Good night. 

Arrazo — {Muttering.) Oh, cosa terribile — oh, 
maledetta — le poveri — si gentile — si amabile — si 
buoni! Oh, Santa Maria — pieta — pieta! 

{Hopper takes his departure. The curtain falls.) 



ACT III 

Same scene as Act I — Later the same evening, 

{Marjorie is sitting by the table with a book be- 
fore her, which she is apparently reading at intervals. 
She is nervous and excited. The Governor enters.) 

Governor — Well, what has my little girl been 
doing today? 

Marjorie — (Startled.) Oh, nothing in particu- 
lar. I took a long motor ride this morning. 

Governor — Have you seen Bob today? 

Marjorie — No — I understand he telephoned 
while I was out. 

Governor — Is he coming tonight? 

Marjorie — Not that I know of. 

Governor — You are not feeling well, are you 
dear? 

Marjorie — Yes, Daddy — what makes you think 
I'm not? 

Governor — You don't seem yourself exactly — 
and you scarcely ate a bite for dinner. 

Marjorie — I wasn't very hungry — but it's noth- 
ing — I'll be all right tomorrow. 

Governor — Better go to bed early and have a 
good, long sleep. 

Marjorie — Yes, I shall. 
52 



ACT III 53 

{Enter Jenkins.) 

Jenkins — Mr. Hopper is calling. Says it is very 
important for him to see you at once. 

Governor — Oh, I don't want to see him tonight. 

Jenkins — He seems very anxious to see you, sir. 

Governor — Well, let him come in. 

(Exit Jenkins.) 

Marjorie — Shall I go, Daddy? 

Governor — Should you mind — he's a very timid 
man, and you might embarras him. 

Marjorie — I wouldn't do that for anything. 

(She rises to go. Hopper enters. Upon seeing 
Marjorie about to go, he pauses in front of the 
doorway.) 

Governor — My daughter — Mr. Hopper. 

Marjorie — Good evening, Mr. Hopper. I was 
just going. Will you excuse me? 

Hopper — I am sorry. I came to tell you and 
your father something which I am sure will interest 
you both. 

Marjorie — What is it? 

Hopper — It concerns Count Orsini. 

Marjorie — (Making an effort at self control.) 
Yes. 

Hopper — (Watching the effect of his words on 
Marjorie.) He has met with a very serious acci- 
dent, Miss Burton. 

Marjorie — O, what is it? 



54 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Hopper — The fact is that Count Orsini was 
murdered this afternoon. 

Governor — You can't mean it, Mr. Hopper. 

Hopper — (With his eyes constantly on Mar- 
jorie.) Yes, it was a very distressing affair. In 
fact a double murder. Governor. 

Marjorie — O, no! 

Governor — What's that? 

Hopper — ^Yes. It seems there was a young 
Italian woman with Orsini in his apartment. They 
were both shot and killed there. 

Governor — Good Heavens! Who did it? 

Hopper — {After a pause and still watching Mar- 
jorie.) An Italian named Arrazo Ferratti. He was 
Orsini's servant. 

Marjorie — {Excited.) How do you know? 

Hopper — Some of the neighbors heard the shots 
and telephoned the police. When they got there a 
few moments later, Arrazo was packing up some of 
his things, evidently preparing for a speedy flight. 
He was caught red-handed. 

Marjorie — But did he confess? 

Hopper — Well, one would hardly expect that. 
But during the course of the third degree I put him 
through, he told enough lies to convict him ten 
times over. 

Governor — But what could have prompted him 
to do such a thing? 



ACT III 55 

Hopper — I'm not sure, Governor, but I've ob- 
served that an Italian shooting affray usually has 
a woman at the bottom of it. Cherchez la femme, 
as the French say. In this case, I fancy the servant 
was jealous of the master, for the shooting occurred 
in Orsini's bedroom. 

Governor — No doubt you're right. It's lucky 
you caught him before he got away. 

Hopper — {Still watching Marjorie.) Yes, we 
caught him all right. And there isn't a doubt in 
the world but that he'll hang by the neck for what 
he did. 

Marjorie — {Unable to control herself.) No — 
he shan't — he didn't do it. I know he didn't do it. 

Governor — Why, Marjorie — what do you mean ? 

Marjorie — Oh, Daddy — I can't stand by and let 
this man die for something he didn't do. I know 
you wouldn't want me to do that. 

Hopper — It seems. Governor, that your daugh- 
ter can throw some light on this affair. Of course, 
it is her duty to tell whatever she may know. 

Governor — {Reluctantly.) Yes — tell us what 
you know, Marjorie. 

Marjorie — It was not the servant. It was that 
woman who shot Orsini, and, afterwards, she shot 
and killed herself. 

Governor — But how do you know ? 

Marjorie — Because I was there. 



56 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Governor — Good God, what were you doing 
there ! 

Hopper — Let me ask a few questions, Governor, 
if you don't mind. Will you please tell us. Miss 
Burton, what led up to the shooting. 

Marjorie — There is not much to tell. Orsini 
and I were talking together in his living room. We 
neither of us knew that anyone else was in the apart- 
ment. We heard a noise in the next room. He went 
to see what it was. As he entered, a shot was fired 
and he fell. A moment later there was a second 
shot followed by a woman's scream. I went in and 
found them both dead. 

Hopper — You think that the woman shot Orsini 
and then herself? 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Hopper — She couldn't have done it, Miss Burton. 
She w^as shot in the temple and must have died in- 
stantly. The pistol, with which she was shot, was 
found on Orsini's dresser, ten feet away. 

Marjorie — Yes — I remember — I picked it up 
and put it there. I don't know why. 

Hopper — Not a very likely story, Miss Burton. 
Besides, when a jealous woman makes up her mind 
to shoot someone, she generally shoots her rival in- 
stead of herself. 

Governor — ^What in hell are you driving at. 
Hopper? 



ACT III 57 

Hopper — I'm very sorry, Governor, but you can 
see for yourself how this thing stands. The motive 
of this murder was jealousy — that's perfectly plain. 
Your daughter and this other woman were both in 
Orsini's apartment. They were both in love with 
Orsini and the other woman are shot, and the 
pistol is found in a position which indicates that 
the shooting was done by a third person. What's the 
inference? 

Marjorie — It's not true. I didn't do it — I had 
no reason to do it. I was not in love with Orsini. 

Hopper — Come, come. Miss Burton — you're only 
making things worse. A young woman in your posi- 
tion doesn't go alone with a man to his apartment if 
she's not in love with him. 

Marjorie — O, Daddy, Daddy, how terrible! 

Hopper — I am very much afraid. Governor, that 
I shall have to report that it was your daughter 
who — 

Governor — No, no. Hopper — you must be 
wrong. You are simply jumping at conclusions. 
You must take more time. A moment ago you 
were sure that it was Orsini's servant. 

Hopper — (S/niling.) You are wrong there. 
Governor. I knew all this before I came. 

Marjorie — How could you? 

Hopper — You see. Miss Burton, you left in some- 
what of a hurry, and forgot to take your bag with 



58 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

you {showing her the bag.) It has some of your 
calling cards in it. 

Governor — Good heavens! 

Hopper — So you see, Governor, that I am quite 
prepared to conclude that it was your daughter 
who fired those shots. 

Governor — I don't believe it, Hopper. It isn't 
true. It was that other woman. 

Hopper — (Who from noiv on watches the Gov- 
ernor intently.) Nevertheless, Governor, it was 
your daughter who fired those shots. 

Governor — What do you mean? 

Hopper — You haven't asked who the other wo- 
man was, Governor. You remember you wanted 
me to find out for j'ou. Have you lost your curi- 
osity on that point? 

Governor — Well ? 

Hopper — It's a small world, Governor, for the 
fact is that the other woman was your other daugh- 
ter, Theresa Lugioni. 

Governor — That's an infernal lie. I have no 
other daughter. I know no one by that name. 

Hopper — I don't blame you, Governor. I'd pro- 
test too if I were in your place. But there's no use. 
You see / know. 

Governor — I don't know what you are driving 
at, Hopper, but you're all wrong. You don't know 
what you're talking about. 



ACT III 59 

Hopper — No use, Governor. You see after this 
shooting, I went over and broke the news to Theresa 
Lugioni, the girl's mother. Of course, she was a bit 
excited and talked rather freely. Naturally she 
thinks it was your other daughter — Miss Burton 
here — who did the shooting. And she doesn't pro- 
pose to have you shift the blame to your first daugh- 
ter — her daughter — you see. Rather a delicate situ- 
ation you find yourself in, eh Governor? 

Governor — What sort of a hound are you. Hop- 
per? Whoi are you, and what do you want in this 
house ? 

Hopper — A very timely question. Governor. I'd 
better tell you. It may relieve the situation. The 
fact is, that I am in charge of the secret service de- 
partment of the State Central Committee of the 
opposite political party. That committee would like 
to see a new governor elected this fall. And 
they would feel very much relieved if you were 
out of the race. Perhaps that's all I should say. 
Think it over. If you want to see me tomorrow, 
send for me before noon. Up to that time, I will 
keep this little complication to myself. Good night, 
Governor. 

{He goes. The Governor and Marjorie stare at 
each other, both too astonished for a moment to 
speak.) 

Governor — {Finally.) Good God, Marjorie, 



6o NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

what have you done? 

Marjorie — Oh, Daddy, I'm so sorry. But I 
didn't do what he says I did. You must believe I 
didn't. 

Governor — Don't be a fool, Marjorie. I know 
you couldn't have done that. Hopper knows it, 
himself. But these devils have got me in a trap and 
are going to keep me there. That's the worst of it. 
And you're to blame for it, too. It all comes of 
your having made an insufferable fool of j'ourself. 

Marjorie — But, Daddy, I couldn't possibly have 
supposed that anything like this — 

Governor — You had no business to go there — 
that's the point. What in heaven's name made you 
do such a thing? 

Marjorie — {Coldly.) I went there because I 
had nothing else to do — that's why. 

Governor — Don't be impudent, Marjorie, and 
don't make a fool of yourself. What do you mean 
by that? 

Marjorie — Just what I said — I had nothing else 
to do. I was bored to extinction with my life. I 
wanted to change it, and to do something serious 
and worth while. You wouldn't let me — so I had 
to amuse myself as best I could. 

Governor — You mean that you went alone with 
that man to his apartment merely to amuse your- 
self? 



ACT III 6i 

Marjorie — Yes. 

Governor — Were you not in love with him? 

Marjorie — No. 

Governor — Good God, Marjorie — you put your- 
self on a level with a woman of the streets. 

Marjorie — {With rising anger.) You'd better 
not say that — ^you are not in a position to throw 
stones. 

Governor — What's that? 

Marjorie — I say you are not in a position to 
throw stones at me, and I mean it. What happened 
today was no more my fault than yours. In fact 
it was much less my fault than yours. 

Governor — I'll not permit you to say such things 
to me. 

Marjorie — I'll say whatever I think. 

Governor — Then, I'll teach you discipline, you 
impudent — {He strikes her in the face. Marjorie 
screams. Instantly the lights are extinguished, leav- 
ing the stage in utter darkness. A moment late'r 
the lights come on very gradually, disclosing a scene 
identical with that disclosed at the end of the first 
act. The Governor is asleep in his chair. Jane is 
across the table, seated under the lamp, reading. 
As the last lights come on, the Governor awakens 
with a start, from his dream.) 

Governor — Good God — where am I? 

Jane — {Putting aside her book.) What's the 



62 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

matter, John — are you ill? 

Governor — No — I've had a frightful dream 
about Marjorie. I can scarcely believe it wasn't real. 

Jane — Serves you right for going to sleep over my 
lecture. 

Governor — You did lecture me to sleep, didn't 
you? I think that must have caused the trouble, 
for I dreamed of the very thing you w^ere lecturing 
me about. 

Jane — I hope your dream did you more good than 
my lecture. 

Governor — Well, your lecture put me to sleep, 
but my dream gave me a very rude aw^akening. 

Jane — Perhaps that is v^^hat you needed. 

Governor — Perhaps it was. How long have I 
been asleep? 

Jane — About two hours, I think. 

Governor — Marjorie returned ? 

Jane — Not yet. 

Governor — Heard anything from Bob? 

Jane — No. 

{Bob enters.) 

Bob — Hello, Governor. 

Governor — Speak of the devil — 

Bob — I couldn't wait to be announced — I've bully 
news for you! 

Jane — Politics ? 

Bob — Yes. 



ACT III 63 

Jane — Then I'm off. I've heard enough to last 
me the rest of my life. 

(Exit Jane.) 

Governor — Well, Bob? 

Bob — Wonderful news, Governor. Sounds like 
a detective play in four acts. 

Governor — Let's have it. 

Bob — Well, as I left the house, I happened to see 
Hopper board a car at the corner. I had my motor, 
so I follow^ed the car and w^atched for Hopper to 
get off. I followed him to Jim Sullivan's house. - 

Governor — Then he must belong to Public Utili- 
ties. 

Bob — Yes. That's the first curtain. Now for 
Act 2. 

Governor — Go on. 

Bob — Having seen Hopper go from here to Sulli- 
van's house, I couldn't get away from the notion 
that Sullivan had something to do with that anony- 
mous letter. Then I thought of Marjorie's de- 
tective work. It occurred to me that a month or 
so ago, Sullivan had written a letter to the District 
Attorney's office, relative to appearing as a witness 
before the grand jury. I went to the office and got 
the letter. Then I compared it with the anony- 
mous letter which you received tonight. Well, what 
do you think? 

Governor — Same typewriter ? 



64 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Bob — Not the least doubt in the world. Second 
curtain. 

Governor — Bravo! It becomes interesting. 

Bob — Act three commenced with a period of medi- 
tation. Then by an industrious use of the telephone, 
I found out the name and telephone number of 
Sullivan's private secretary. Then I called her on 
the phone, and, pretending to be one of Sullivan's 
understrappers, I said that Mr. Sullivan wanted to 
know whether she had destroyed her shorthand notes 
of the letter Sullivan had dictated to the Governor. 
What do you think of that — eh, Governor? 

Governor — Did it work? 

Bob — Like a charm. Girl said the notes had been 
destroyed as Sullivan had directed. End of Act 
three. How do you like the play. Governor? 

Governor — Great! Go on. 

Bob — All right. Up goes the curtain — Act four 
— scene, Jim Sullivan's library. Present, the big 
boss in person. Enter the United States District 
Attorney. How's that for a setting? 

Governor — Wonderful — what happened ? 

Bob — Well, I went in and put my cards face up 
on the table. There was no use trying to fool 
Sullivan. I couldn't have done it. He's too smart. 
Besides, I didn't have to. I just told him what I 
had and what I intended to do if he didn't keep his 
mouth shut. 



ACT III 65 

Governor — What did you say you would do. 

Bob — (Smiling.) I told him that, for the pres- 
ent, my knowledge about his correspondence was 
purely personal — not official. But I said that if 
anyone attempted to drag your personal affairs into 
this campaign, my friend, the United States Dis- 
trict Attorney, would send him to the penitentiary 
for using the United States mails with intent to 
blackmail. 

Governor — Good heavens. Bob, did you say 
that? 

Bob — Of course, I did. And the big boss was so 
good that he positively fed from the hand. 

Governor — You don't mean that he admitted 
writing the letter. 

Bob — Of course not — he's too smart for that. 
But he said {imitating Sullivan) that he did not 
believe in making campaign issues out of personali- 
ties, and that he would throw the weight of his 
influence against any such attempt in the present 
campaign. That's all there is to it. Governor — you 
may forget all about that anonymous letter. 

Governor — I can never thank you enough for 
this, Bob. 

Bob — Stufif and nonsense. Don't thank me — 
thank Marjorie. She furnished the brains, and I 
merely did the rough work. That daughter of 
yours is wasting her talents, Governor. You should 



66 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

let her study law, and watch for developments. 

Governor — Are you serious, Bob? 

Bob — Of course, I am. 

Governor — You know those two have been 
working along that line — trying to get me to con- 
sent — but I have held back. 

Bob— Why? 

Governor — Because I was an old fossil, I sup- 
pose. But now, for some reason or other, I am 
beginning to see things in a different light. 

Bob — You might as well come to it, Governor. 
You know women always have their own way in 
the end. And, when you have to give in, it's so 
much better to do it gracefully — as Sullivan did. 

{Enter Marjorie.) 

Marjorie — Hello, Bob — so glad you stayed. 
Now let's talk some more about the letter. 

Bob — No use, Marjorie. The detective work is 
all over, and you are the heroine of the day. 

Marjorie — What do you mean? 

Bob — Tell her the story. Governor. 

Governor — Well, as I understand it. Bob strong- 
ly suspected who wrote the letter, and you gave him 
a means of confirming his suspicions. He got an- 
other letter, known to have been written by the 
person suspected, and found by comparison that 
the two letters were written on the same machine. 
Presto — the discovery was made. 



ACT III 67 

Mar J OKIE — Who was it? 

Bob — Promise not to tell? 

Marjorie — Of course. 

Bob — Jim Sullivan. 

Marjorie — You don't mean it. And, are you 
going to send him to prison, Bob? 

Bob — Better than that, Marjorie. 

Marjorie — How ? 

Bob — I've had a talk with him, and — in a quiet 
way you understand — he's going to work for your 
father's re-election. 

Marjorie — Oh, bully — I could hug you, Bob. 
You're wonderful. 

Bob — Not a bit of it, Marjorie. You are entitled 
to the credit for this discovery. 

Governor — ^Well, I'll leave you two to talk 
it out. I'm going to the study for a moment, and 
then to bed. Good night, Marjorie. 

Marjorie — Good night, Dad. 

{She kisses him good night.) 

Governor — I've a secret to whisper to Bob be- 
fore I go. Do you mind, Marjorie? 

Marjorie — I think you might tell me about it. 

{The Governor and Bob walk together to the 
door where they stop and whisper together for a 
moment. They are both laughing.) 

Governor — {Leaving.) Good night. Bob. 

Bob — Good night, Governor. 



68 NOTHING ELSE TO DO 

Governor — {Calling back to Marjorie.) Do you 
want to know the secret, Marjorie? 

Marjorie — ^Yes. 

Governor — Ask Bob. 

{The Governor has gone.) 

Marjorie — Well, out with it, Bob, 

Bob — The truth is the Governor and I have been 
talking about you. 

Marjorie — So it seems. 

Bob — I was saying to the Governor that one hav- 
ing such keen talents as yours is wasting her time on 
anything short of a professional career. 

Marjorie — Don't laugh at me. Bob. 

Bob — And the Governor quite agreed with me. 

Marjorie — Now I know you're laughing at me. 

Bob — ^And I was making application for your 
services as a law clerk — with the understanding, of 
course, that you should have a partnership later on. 

Marjorie — Why are you teasing me this way? 

Bob — And the Governor thought that there 
ought to be a partnership at once — a sort of pre- 
liminary partnership — you know. 

Marjorie — How silly ! 

Bob — ^And I quite agreed with him on the point. 
You see we are absolutely of one mind. 

Marjorie — Why are you telling me this, Bob? 

Bob — Because it's true. Didn't you ask me this 
evening to use my influence to get your father to 



ACT III 69 

consent to let you study law? Well, I've done it — 
that's all. 

Marjorie — Oh, Bob, I can't believe you. 

Bob — Then go to the study and ask the Governor. 

{Without saying a word, she goes. A moment 
later she returns and goes to Bob, taking him by\ 
the lapels of his coat.) 

Marjorie — (Simply.) It's true, Bob. 

Bob — Of course it's true. 

Marjorie — And I am really going to do some- 
thing Mrith my life. 

Bob — To work hard — 

Marjorie — To make myself worthy — 

Bob — Then it's to be a partnership? 

Marjorie — ^Yes. 

(He kisses her forehead.) 

CURTAIN 



CAUGHT 
A Play in One Act 



CAST 



A Man. 
A Burglar. 



Caught 



upon the rise of the curtain is diclosed a room 
in total darkness, except for the moonlight which 
shines through a window at the back of the stage on 
the right. A moment later, the form of a man is 
seen entering the room through the window. After 
he enters, he flashes an electric pocket lamp, by the 
aid of which he surveys the various objects contained 
in the room. The room is large, containing a table 
in the centre, and a number of comfortable chairs. 
There is a telephone on the table. There is also a 
chest of drawers, and a sideboard, and in a corner, 
a small safe about three feet high. In the other 
corner, on the left, is a bed in which a man lies asleep. 
With the occasional aid of the lamp, the intruder, 
who is evidently a burglar, goes through the chest 
of drawers and sideboard, then sits on the floor in 
front of the safe, which he tries to open. In doing 
this, he makes a slight noise, which awakens the 
man in bed. 

Man— Who's there? 

( There is an absolute silence for a moment, after 

which the man in bed sits up and turns an electric 

switch, which illuminates the stage. Thereupon the 

burglar jumps to his feet and covers the man in bed 

75 



76 CAUGHT 

with his pistol.) 

Burglar — Don't make a noise, or I'll shoot. 

Man — Very well. I'm no fool. What do you 
want? 

Burglar — I want money. 

Man — You've tackled the wrong place. This is 
no bank. 

Burglar — We'll see about that — get up. 

Man — Very well, if you insist. 

(He gets up and steps into his slippers at the side 
of his bed.) 

Man — I'll put on my bathrobe if you don't mind. 
It's a bit cool. 

(He reaches for his bathrobe, which hangs over 
the front of the bed.) 

Burglar — Wait a moment — back up. 

(Throughout the scene the burglar has kept the 
man covered with the pistol. The man backs away 
as directed. The burglar takes the bathrobe and 
feels the pockets. Then he tosses it to the man.) 

Burglar — ^All right — put it on. 

(The man puts on the bathrobe over his pajamas. 
He is evidently tnore comfortable.) 

Man — (Perfectly at ease and good humoredly.) 
Well, what next? 

Burglar — Open the safe. 

Man — So that's it. I see you've been through 
the rest of the furniture. Didn't you find anything 



CAUGHT 77 

you wanted? 

Burglar — No. 

Man — That's singular. It isn't so bad, you 
know. 

Burglar — Open the safe — first pull down that 
window and shade. 

Man — Certainly. 

{He puts doivn the window and shade as directed, 
then throws a cushion on the floor in front of the 
safe and sits down on it preparatory to working the 
combination. The burglar is standing about fifteen 
feet away — pistol in hand.) 

Man — {Turning affably to Burglar.) It may 
take me sometime to open it. I haven't tried it lately. 
Wont you sit down and make yourself comfortable. 
{He motions to an easy chair.) 

Burglar — {Thawing slightly and smiling.) 
Don't care if I do. 

{He sits down, and for the first time, lowers the 
point of his pistol. The fnan works a while at the 
combination, then turns to the burglar.) 

Man — {Very good humoredly.) Say, this is too 
good to keep to myself. Would yoiu mind my tell- 
ing you the joke before I open it. 

Burglar — ^What's the matter — is it empty? 

Man — Not much; it's full of treasure — jewels, 
gold and silver; that's what makes it so funny. 

Burglar — What's the joke. 



78 CAUGHT 

Man — It's this. I took out a burglar policy day 
before yesterday ; didn't want it at all ; agent literally 
forced it down my throat, and now, Oho, what 
luck! 

Burglar — Humph! I aint such a bad fellow — 
am I? 

Man — Bad! I should say not. Wait until I 
tell you the rest of the story. You haven't heard 
the real point of the joke. 

Burglar — {Interested.) Go on; Iet*s have it. 

Man — You see — this junk in here — I got it from 
my aunt; she willed it to me when she died, and 
requested that I keep it to remember her by, and 
I've done it out of a sort of sentiment, although I've 
wished time and again that I could cash it in for 
what it was worth; and here's where I do it with 
a clear conscience. Oh, this is rich. 

Burglar — What's the stuff worth? 

Man — Fully two thousand, I should say; at any 
rate, that's what the insurance company's going to 
pay for it. And say, old man, maybe you think I 
don't need the money. 

Burglar — Humph! I'm glad to help you out. 

Man — You're doing it all right. I probably 
shouldn't have had the heart to sell this stuff, and 
wouldn't have gotten full value for it if I had; but 
now, — well, your visit is providential; that's all 
there is to it. 



CAUGHT 79 

Burglar — Well, let's lamp the swag. 

Man — What's that? Oh, you mean you want 
to see it, of course. 

{He turns back to the safe and works the combina- 
tion, then rises and opens the safe door.) 

Burglar — (Rising.) Now you stand over there 
while I see what's inside. 

Man — Oh, you don't trust me — after my feeling 
so friendly — that is unkind — you ought to be asham- 
ed of yourself. 

Burglar — Well, get it out yourself, but mind — 
don't try any tricks. 

Man — Certainly not. I have more interest in 
seeing you get safely away with this stuff than you 
have yourself. Sit over here by the table and I'll 
get it out for you. 

(The burglar, somewhat suspicious, takes a seat 
at the table facing the safe. He keeps a firm grip 
on his pistol.) 

Man — Here's the whole outfit in a big box. 
(Setting box doiun on the table in front of the 
burglar.) Take off the lid and have a look at it. 

( The burglar cautiously takes off the lid and 
looks inside the box. Manifestly, from his looks', 
he is not disappointed in its contents. He puts in 
his hand and fingers the various articles caress- 
ingly.) 

Burglar — You was telling the truth — wasn't 



8o CAUGHT 

you? 

Man — Of course I was ; did you doubt it ? 

Burglar — I did at first, but now I guess you're 
on the square. 

Man — Certainly I'm on the square. What are 
you going to wrap that stuff up in. 

Burglar — I don't know; what have you got? 

Man — {Looking about.) Let's see (looks to- 
ward bed) how would a pillow case do? 

Burglar — Fine. 

Man — I'll get you one. {Starts toivard bed — is 
about to pick up a pillow.) 

Burglar — {Remembers himself, rises hastily and 
points pistol.) Here — come away from there; 
what's under that pillow? 

Man — {Turning about.) Now that is unkind — 
you are the most suspicious person I ever met. Come 
get your own pillow case. 

{Burglar goes and takes pillow from bed. There 
is nothing underneath.) 

Burglar — I beg your pardon. I thought — pos- 
sibly — 

Man — I know what you thought — you thought 
I had a pistol under my pillow. Well, I haven't 
one about the place. If I had, I'd give it to you and 
let the insurance company pay me for it. 

Burglar — I guess you are all right after all. 

Man — Of course I'm all right. Now take a look 



CAUGHT 8i 

in the safe to see that I haven't cheated you out of 
anything. 

Burglar — {Hesitates.) I guess it's all right. 

Man — Don't take my word for it — look for 
yourself, 

( The burglar, rather ashamed of himself, goes and 
looks into the safe.) 

Man — Did I get everything? 

Burglar — It's all right. 

Man — Fine — now do up your stuff in your pil- 
low case. 

{Burglar goes to table — transfers contents of box 
to pilloiu case.) 

Man — {Going to dresser.) Here's a piece of 
cord to tie it up with. 

Burglar — Thanks. 

{Burglar ties up package.) 

Man — What else may I do for you? 

Burglar — Thanks — I think that's about all. 

Man — ^You know — possibly I may have a little 
change in my trouser's pocket. 

Burglar — I guess not — {hesitates) is that cover- 
ed by your insurance? 

Man — Certainly — everything's covered. 

Burglar — Then maybe I might as well take it 
along. 

Man — All right — I'll get it for you — it's in the 
closet. 



82 CAUGHT 

(He goes to the closet. The burglar says nothing 
but watches him suspiciously, still holding his pistol.) 

Man — {Returning from closet.) Here you are 
— not much of it I fancy. Let's see {counting money 
on table) — twenty-five dollars and twenty-five cents. 
Better leave me the quarter to get downtown with 
in the morning. 

Burglar — Sure — take what you want. 

Man — {Taking quarter.) Thanks awfully — 
this will be plenty, I'm sure. Now what else may 
I do for you? 

Burglar — {Pocketing money.) Nothing at all 
— you've treated me white all right. I ain't exactly 
used to it. Makes me feel queer. 

Man — Nonsense — you're doing more for me than 
I am for you. Now before you go, what do you 
say to a bite to eat and a drop of drink. I don't 
know how you feel, but I'm hungry, and as thirsty 
as a camel. 

Burglar — {Thoroughly delighted.) Blow me — 
you do treat a fellow white — don't mind if I do. 

Man — All right, come along to the ice box — 
bring your lamp and let's see what we can find. 

{They go out and presently return with a plate 
of cookieSj a couple of siphon bottles and a bowl of 
ice, which they place on the table. The man then 
gets a decanter of whiskey from the sideboard which 
he also places on the table. They draw up a couple 



CAUGHT ^ 83 

of chairs and sit down. The burglar puts his pistol 
down on the edge of the table at his right, which 
is toward the audience.) 

Man — I'm sorry I couldn't find more to eat. 
However, I have some extra fine old whiskey. Do 
you like Bourbon? 

Burglar — Sure. 

Man — {Preparing a rather stiff highball.) Try 
this. 

Burglar — Thanks. 

Man — {Who has also prepared one for himself.) 
Well — here's to your safe getaway. 

Burglar — And here's hopin' you get your in- 
surance money. 

Man — Good. 

( They both drink. The burglar consumes his 
highball to the last drop.) 

Burglar — {Putting down glass.) I was dry all 
right. 

Man — So was I — let's fill up. 

{He replenishes the highballs.) 

Burglar — That's fine liquor you've got. 

Man — Glad you like it — I'll give you a bottle to 
take along if you say so. 

Burglar — Blow me now — honest — ^you're a brick. 

Man — Not a bit — charge it to the insurance com- 
pany. 

Burglar — Ha — ha — ha — that's a good joke — 



84 CAUGHT 

ha — ha — 

Man — Have a cake on the insurance company. 

Burglar — Ha — ha — sure. 

{He takes a cake and eats it — then takes a drink. 
Throughout the conversation which follows, the 
man and burglar continue to eat cakes and drink 
highballs. As soon as one highball is finishedj the 
man promptly refills the empty glass.) 

Man — Let me ask you — how long have you been 
following this profession of yours? 

Burglar — ^All my life — off and on. 

Man — What do you do when you're off? 

Burglar — Odd jobs — on the detective force at 
times. 

Man — Gad — that's pretty cool. 

Burglar — Yes — you see it's a good experience — 
you learn how they play the game on the other side 
— then you get a good reputation that may come in 
handy. 

Man — I see — have you ever been caught? 

Burglar — No — only the raw ginks are caught — 
them as don't know both sides of the game. 

Man — Then if you know both sides of the game, 
you can feel safe. 

Burglar — Sure. 

Man — How did you happen to get into this par- 
ticular line of business? 

Burglar — Brought up in it as a boy, and never 



CAUGHT ^5 

learned anything else, except the detective business. 

Man — Do you like it — your profession I mean? 

Burglar — Not much — I'd rather be a bank presi- 
dent all right. What's your business? 

Man — I practice law for a living. 

Burglar — Lawyer eh, — well, I'd even rather be 
in your business than mine, if I had my way about it. 

Man — Thanks awfully. 

Burglar — I don't know that I'd like it so well, 
but it's a damn sight safer. 

Man — Yes, that is an advantage. 

Burglar — The trouble with me is I've never 
had any education. It takes education to make an 
honest living these days. I never had a fair chance. 

Man — Why don't you go back to the detective 
business? You can make an honest living at that. 

Burglar — ^You don't know the detective busi- 
ness. Those fellows are the biggest crooks unhung. 
I'd rather make less money and be decent. 

Man — So you feel that your own business is more 
respectable than the detective business. 

Burglar — I know it is. 

Man— Why? 

Burglar — Detectives are not on the square. 
They're paid to do something, and they double-cross 
the men they get their pay from. As for me, I work 
for nobody. I'm paid by nobody. I don't pretend 
to be anything I'm not. I play my own game, and 



86 CAUGHT 

make my own rules. I pick up a bit of swag when 
I can get it, and I take my chances on paying damn 
high for it. I fight a single-handed fight against all 
of you — with all your money, and your government, 
and your police, and your penitentiaries. It's my 
nerve and my wits against them all. Catch me if 
you can. That's all I've got to say. 

Man — By Gad, old man, I like you — I like your 
point of view — I wouldn't have missed this for 
anything. Have another cake. 

{He pushes the plate of cakes over toward the 
edge of the table on the burglar s left. He pushes 
it too far and it falls to the floor. The burglar 
reaches over to pick them up and instantly the man 
appropriates the pistol which lay at the burglar's 
right. When the burglar resumes a sitting posture, 
he finds himself confronted with the point of his 
own weapon.) 

Man — Now the tables are turned — hands up. 

Burglar — {Surprisingly cool, and keeping his 
hands on the table.) Never mind about my hands 
— you've got the bead on me all right. 

Man — Yes, and I'm going to keep it. And you're 
going to sit right where you are while I telephone 
for the police. This is the time you're caught. 

{The man reaches for the telephone which sits on 
the table.) 

Burglar — Wait a minute. 



CAUGHT 87 

Man— Why? 

Burglar — If you turn me over to the police — 
what about this insurance? 

Man — Ha — that's a joke. There isn't any in- 
surance. I invented that yarn to get your confidence. 
I knew if I could get your confidence I could get 
your pistol, and I did it. 

Burglar — Say, you're a smart guy all right — 
I'd like to have a lawyer like you — we'd make a 
team. 

Man — Nothing doing, — now I'm going to call 
the police. 

{He pulls the telephone to him with his left hand, 
keeping the burglar covered with the pistol in his 
right.) 

Burglar — Wait a minute. 

Man — Nothing doing. 

Burglar — (Comf/ianding.) I tell you to wait 
a minute. Now listen to me. You're not going to 
call any police. What you are going to do is to call 
a taxi to take me away from here. 

Man — Gad, you're cool. 

Burglar — Why shouldn't I be cool. You think 
you're a smart guy — don't you? Well, you're not 
half as smart as you think you are. 

Man — Why so? 

Burglar — Because I took the cartridges out of 
that pistol when you were in the icebox. It aint 



88 CAUGHT 

loaded. 

Man — You lie. I'm not to be fooled so easily 
as that. 

Burglar — Do you want to know how to find out 
whether I'm lying. 

Man — Yes. 

Burglar — Point that gun at my head and pull 
the trigger. 

Man — If you say so, I will. 

Burglar — Go on. 

{The man points the pistol at the burglar's head. 
The burglar remains perfectly calm. There is a 
pause.) 

Burglar — Why don't you shoot? 

Man — {Lowering point of pistol.) I don't want 
to. But I must admit that you have nerve all right. 

Burglar — I tell you it aint loaded. I distrusted 
you and your insurance story from the start. So I 
took out the cartridges and put the pistol within 
your reach to see what you'd do. Do you think 
I'd a been damn fool enough to leave it there if 
it was loaded? Now, I'm going to pack my kit 
and go. 

{He pushes back his chair and rises to his feet.) 

Man — {Pointing pistol.) You take two steps 
and I'll shoot. 

Burglar — ( Turning and walking away. ) Shoot 
ahead. 



CAUGHT 89 

{The man pulls the trigger. There is no report. 
The burglar turns immediately , and as he does so, 
he produces from his pocket, with marvelous 7-apid- 
ity, another pistol, with which he covers the man.) 

Burglar — I told you ft wasn't loaded — but this 
one is. Now put that toy gun of yours on the table. 

{The man, whose courage has cotnpletely col- 
lapsed, obeys mechanically.) 

Burglar — Now back up. 

( The man obeys and the burglar reaches over 
and picks up and pockets the pistol.) 

Burglar — Now take that telephone and call 
Central 426. That's the taxi station at the corner. 
Give your name and address and say you want a 
taxi at once to send home a friend. And have 
them charge it to you. 

Man — I like your nerve — is your own gun 
loaded ? 

Burglar — Put your hands back of you. ( The 
man obeys.) Now look into these cylinders. The 
bullets are almost sticking out. {He points the 
pistol at the man's eyes abotit a foot from his face.) 

Man — {Nervous.) I can see them all right. 
Back up. I'll call your taxi. 

( The burglar steps back. The rnan takes the 
phone and orders the taxi as directed.) 

Burglar — Thanks. Now, I've got a little job 
to do while I'm waiting for the taxi. 



90 CAUGHT 

Man — What is it ? 

Burglar — Give me another piece of that cord I 
used to tie up the swag. ( The man obeys. ) Now 
turn your back and give me your hands. ( The man 
obeys and the burglar ties his wj'ists together behind 
his back.) 

Burglar — Now, I think that closet would be a 
good place for you. Get in. 

( The burglar opens the closet door and the man 
goes in.) 

Burglar — If you don't mind, I'll take this coat 
and hat — it looks better than mine. {He takes the 
man's overcoat and hat from the closet.) 

Burglar — Now no noise — do you understand ? 

{He locks the man in the closet, takes out the key 
and tosses it under the bed. He then goes to the 
table and cuts the telephone cord zuith a knife which 
he takes from his pocket. He then takes another 
drink. As he finishes there is heard the honk of a 
taxicab. The burglar puts on the man's hat and 
overcoat, puts his own cap in his pocket, puts the 
package of jewelry under his coat, and departs 
through the door.) 

CURTAIN 



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